Chapter Thirty
Spike had his arm around her middle, pulling her back against his cool chest. His mouth was attentively showering her throat with sweet, loving kisses, his fingers stroking her skin with fragile care. As though, despite her being the Slayer, there was every possibility that she could crumble in his embrace. These sensations alongside the persistent nudge of his arousal at her backside—the same that never seemed to get any rest—combined the haven for her wake. If only every morning could be like this.
Similarly, the cool body pressed against her aided in the recall of every delicious detail the night before had provided. No blurry recollection—it was all there. Her adrenaline would not let her forget; nor would her sore-in-a-good-way and likewise amply willing body.
Buffy’s cheeks flooded with heat that wasted no time in warming every inch of her skin. She smiled shyly and pressed back against him, rejoicing in the liberty to do so. He rewarded her with a low moan and a needy thrust forward, the arm around her middle tightening.
“Mornin’, baby,” he purred, hand sliding up her stomach to caress a breast. “Sleep well?”
She turned slightly to look at him; his mouth sweeping hers the moment it was within reach. “Sleep? Did we actually do any of that last night?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers…though, I think that’s a philosophy we sufficiently disproved.” He grinned. “Either way, you’re the one that woke me up with a tongue bath.”
“I’m also the one that woke up with your…” She blushed again and tore her eyes from his, pressing her back against him once again and settling on her side. “Well, your—”
“You’re adorable.”
“Am not.”
“I beg to differ.” His hand abandoned her breast to scale southward. “Sugar an’ spice an’ everythin’ nice. Full of ripe, delicious ambrosia. An’ I woke you up ‘cause I wanted a li’l taste. ‘Sides…” Spike bit down gently at the softness of her throat as two fingers slid into her warmth. He smiled into her skin when she gasped and bucked back, answering her with a sharp thrust of his hips. “Don’ recall you complainin’ at the time.”
Buffy whimpered, clenching her muscles around his invasive touch. The cry became desperate as his hand withdrew, arms encouraging her to turn so that they were face to face. When she found herself looking into his eyes again, her insides melted with the potency of buried kindliness. Her leg was over his waist the next minute, his erection slipping into her wet sheath with a joined sigh of completion.
It was so new. She believed it would be new for years to come. This feeling of belonging. Of homecoming. They had to rest on union alone—allow themselves a few seconds to grow used to heaven before moving to the sights.
“Love lookin’ at you,” Spike said after a minute, catching his nonexistent breath as he began to thrust. Slow, leisurely—so different than what she would have expected of him. Though for everything they had shared the night before and the occasional flash of feral behind his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind that he liked it rough just as much as she relished this. “You’re so lovely.” He drew her as close as possible, eliciting a sharp moan at the angle he struck. Her breasts flattened against his chest, his face buried in her hair. The notion itself sent her on a deepened spiral of self-discovery. She was not accustomed to being cherished. “I can’t believe I’m wakin’ up next to you.”
Buffy pulled back a bit at that, breath ragged. Her hands steadied at his shoulders; his own at her hips, pulling her with him on every plunge. “You thought I’d…leave?”
“Not…so much…that,” he replied, peppering kisses across her chin before seizing her mouth. “Jus’ can’t…” He drew them to a standstill and smiled lovingly into her eyes. “You’re here. You’re really here. God, I couldn’t sleep last night for the…thought…” Spike released a deep breath and pulled her closer as he began moving again. “The thought that…’d dreamt it all. Every…luscious…moment.” He kissed her again and rolled them over until she was beneath him, her gasp filling his mouth. His thrusts grew deeper as his body overtook his mind. The sight of the blonde beneath him, passion-filled gaze thrown back at him, was enough to make any form of sense disappear. “’S why I couldn’t sleep,” he continued, licking at her throat. “Why I kept wakin’ you, sweetheart. ’F it wasn’ real, I wanted it to last.”
Buffy’s head flew back and her nails dug deeper into his forearms. “Woke you once,” she panted.
“Yeh. Knew it was real then.” He brushed a kiss across her temple and smiled. Then reached a hand between them to fondle her clit, sending her over the edge with effortless ease. His smile turned into a smirk at her heady wail of his name, and despite her fluster, she lacked the will to call him on it.
That smirk was just as much a part of him as anything else she had come to love. And either way, she got her own back the next second as his thrusts turned frantic and he spilled himself inside her, her name a prayer on his lips.
It took a minute to realize that he had burst into game face—the phase of yellow coloring his pupils where the ocean usually resided. She remembered Angel being ashamed of his demon-self, hiding whenever she tried to touch him, and was moved beyond reason when Spike did not shy from her. His eyes were heavy and apologetic for his lack of control, but he leaned into her all the same when her hands came up to caress his face. To explore the contours given to him by nature. This vision of everything she was supposed to hate. Supposed to kill.
He released a ragged breath when she leaned up to kiss his forehead, his chest rumbling against hers in a purr of contentment. As though her silent acceptance of what he was meant more than the intimacy of physical connection. And that touched her almost as much as his admission of love the night before.
The same admission that had her heart pounding the minute she realized that had been real as well.
Spike sensed that, of course. Sensed her sudden tension, and tilted his head with concern. “Buffy?”
The Slayer pursed her lips and smiled. As quickly as it was born, her apprehension melted into jubilation. A song set in her heart, her eyes glazed with shades of deepened affection. It was the first time she had ever felt loved. The first time the word took on a meaning deeper than merely a word, and blossomed within her a sense of belonging that her past relationships had lacked. Angel had loved her, she knew, but he had also turned evil the night he made his confession. And despite all the want of love that the following year brought, she had never felt it. She had known it was there, but never felt it. Never truly felt it. His love for her had acted as a burden—and despite all the comfort he provided, his eyes never allowed her to forget the price of their relationship.
The torment that had lived in Angel’s eyes was nowhere near Spike’s. And she felt so damnably guilty of lying beneath him, comparing him to Angel with him still semi-hard inside her that she had to tear her gaze away before she betrayed herself.
That didn’t do much good.
“Buffy? Look at me.” She did, and she hated the instant fear she had instilled simply in breaking eye contact. “What’s wrong? Is somethin’ wrong already? God—”
“No.” The word was short but to the point, and he relaxed almost immediately. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just…I was thinking.” A sigh rumbled through her lips. “I was just thinking that no one’s ever looked at me the way you do. And…God, I haven’t felt this…I don’t even know the word. This…”
Spike’s head dipped to whisper a kiss at the pulse of her throat, game face melting away. “Happy?”
There was a worried note tagged onto the end of that. As though he doubted his ability to make her happy. And it suddenly occurred to her out of nowhere at all that he was right. She was happy. For the first time in several years, she was genuinely happy. She was in love and loved in return—the sensation so new that it nearly stole her breath away. And all the rest didn’t matter.
Spike’s reservation about being the benefactor of her happiness triggered a spark of fury with those in his past. He had been so mistreated—by her, obviously, but more by those who were supposed to accept him. Angelus, Drusilla; his family. None of them had given him what he deserved. And true, while she was reaping the benefits now, she hated to think that he had been so alone for over a century. Alone even when Drusilla wasn’t tempted to raise her skirt in invitation to whatever master vampire that happened to cross their path. To any Chaos or Fungus Demon that she flaunted in front of him with no shades of remorse. The vampire with her felt deeply. He felt more than any human she knew. And the pain that was there, the pain that made him doubt her now, was something she vowed to erase.
“Happy’s not the right word,” she decided a minute later. “More like…ecstatic.”
Watching his eyes light up almost reminded her of the Christmas tree she and her mother made a ritual of decorating every year. A bleak nothing, dressed in hope before letting loose its radiation of heat and promise. She tugged him down for a kiss that rapidly lost control.
“Mmm,” Spike mused, trying to pull away only to be yanked back down. Several failed attempts passed before he could find it within himself to deprive his lips of hers. “Sweetheart, ‘s much as I’d love to stay in bed all day shaggin’ you sideways, your tummy’s growlin’ at me. Think we better head over before the Scoobs leave nothin’ for us to raid.”
Buffy broke away with a pout. “You wanna go to breakfast? That means getting ready.”
“An’ here you were yellin’ at me ‘bout takin’ holidays jus’ two days ago.”
“Giles’ll call if he finds anything out. Want more smoochies.”
“Startin’ to sound like Drunk Buffy.” He grinned wickedly and kissed her all the same. She utilized her advantage and clenched her thighs, earning a long-winded groan and the blissful sensation of his full hardness stretching her walls. “God,” he gasped, pulling away. “An’ here I was tryin’ to be a good boy. You have any idea what it takes to resist you?”
“Do you?”
He shook his head quickly as he started to move. “Was lookin’ for pointers.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide, but she lifted her hips to recapture him. There was absolutely nothing more perfect than this. “You wanna be able to resist me?”
“Fuck no. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever it is you’re happenin’ to be doin’. I love everythin’ you do.” His lips danced down her throat. “You feel so bloody good. Don’ know how I managed without this.”
“This?”
“You.”
An indeterminable amount of time later, and they had most definitely missed breakfast. Lying side-by-side in bed to avoid temptation; staring blandly at the ceiling. Waiting for energy to return without any real want of it.
“Your tummy’s still growlin’.”
“Giles is gonna kill me.”
“Said yourself he’d call ‘f the world was endin’.”
“Yeah. I should be there. Granted, I’d be doing nothing but wasting space because books and Buffy? Unmixy things. I’d just get in the way, but hey, at least I’d feel productive.” She expelled a deep breath, tried to sit up, and fell flat on her back the next second. “Ah, damn. I’ll just tell him I couldn’t get my legs to work.”
Spike rumbled a chuckle. “Then I’d be vamp dust.”
“Over my dead and worn out body.”
“Wore you out, huh?”
“Let’s just say that I’m beginning to understand why Anya talks about orgasms all the time.”
He chuckled again and turned on his side to look at her, breaking their silent rule but without penalty. There was something about this—just this—that was just as precious as anything else. She loved being able to talk to him. It added intimacy that she had not thought to exist. The friendship alongside the heat and desire. It was more than she had ever thought to seek; she could only bask in the joy that it had found her before she had the opportunity to miss it.
The entire morning was almost a dream that she had feared would never come true. Lying in bed with the man she loved after her first non-one-night stand. It felt incredible. He had awoken beside her, holding her in her own wake.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly before her brain could stop the words from escaping.
“For what, sweetling?”
A sigh trembled through her. Her gratitude sounded corny in her head, but no less true. Everything tied together nicely. For everything else—the potential apocalypse on the loom, the mixed messages they had spent the past couple days sending each other, this was perfection. What she wanted. What she had always wanted. “For making everything so wonderful.”
Spike grinned and nuzzled her delicately. “I do my best.”
“You succeed with flying colors. I’d almost convinced myself that I was hexed by something awful and all men would bolt as soon as they woke with me after…well…”
His face fell slightly. “’m sorry ‘bout that,” he said, continuing when she tossed him a confused glance. “’Bout what I said…before. When we were fightin’ over the Gem of Amara? Remember?” It took a second, but she did. Did and well. Her cheeks flooded with shame and she started to look down before his gentle hands coaxed her chin back up. “No, baby, don’ do that. I was wrong. God, how I was wrong. Don’ even think I…” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “Don’ know how in the name of everythin’ you allowed me to get this close with everythin’ I’ve done to you.”
It took a minute, but she managed to shrug it off. With whatever their past brought, it was just that: in the past. They had a future to think of, and wouldn’t get very far if they spent all their time discussing what wrongs they had committed against each other when it was natural to do so. “Dunno,” she replied. “I’m just glad I did.”
“Understatement of the year, pet.” Spike smiled softly. “Can’t understand how even the thickest wanker’d kick you out for eatin’ crackers in bed, much less jus’…I don’ get it.”
“Well, one turned evil. The other…turned evil.”
“Maybe that’s it. Your secret. Gotta be evil already.” A wicked grin tickled his lips, and he winked when she gave him a look that was neither amused nor annoyed. “Or maybe you gotta be smarter than a rock an’ realize that only a complete fool would wake up an’ walk away from the greatest gift of his life.” He ducked his head shyly at the adoration and awe that poured out of her eyes. “Doesn’ matter anyway. ‘m never lettin’ you go, so you’ll never get to try out that li’l theory.”
“No?”
“’d tear the sod’s arms off before he got to firs’ base.”
Buffy grinned. “Maybe the secret is being with you.”
“That’s it, luv. That’s the kicker. Look no further.” He leaned in and kissed her, then chuckled lightly as her stomach released another long, mournful growl. “Okay, that’s it. We’re gettin’ you fed.”
“Ugh. That requires getting up.”
“I think you’ll find most things require gettin’ up.”
“I knew there was a reason I hated most things.” She sat up with a wry, exaggerated groan that earned a stern look and a pair of dancing blue eyes. “Where we going?”
Spike stopped and stared at her for a long minute. “To the kitchen?”
“Not—”
“Out? Don’t be barmy. Not till Ripper calls.”
“What if he doesn’t call?”
There was nothing but an answering grin at the possibilities. Buffy rolled her eyes. “I know I don’t wanna go anywhere, but we can’t just lie in bed all day. People will start to think we’re dead.”
He shrugged. “Am dead. What’s the problem?”
“Spike…”
He shook his head with a short laugh. “We’ll head over this afternoon, okay? In the meantime…” It took a few seconds, but he located his discarded shirt and tossed it to her with a devious smirk. “Informal dress is definitely not optional.”
“You’re gonna make breakfast naked?”
“Well no, kitten, I was gonna slide into my trousers. Unless you—”
Buffy shook her head. For some reason, the idea of Spike flipping a flapjack wearing nothing but a chef’s hat—though they possessed no chef’s hat—was oddly arousing. And despite all her protests, she was hungry for something other than sex. “No. No. Pants equal good.”
Spike cocked a cool brow; countenance the picture of male pride. All the same, he reached for his slacks. “Avoidin’ temptation?”
“Just call me Eve. Move into the kitchen!”
“Yes ma’am.” And he was gone. A quick kiss to her lips, and he practically sprinted down the hallway, looking for all the world a proverbial heartbeat from bursting into song.
That thought stuck. Buffy had never seen him so happy. She had never seen him happy. Not like this. Not discounting drunken wiles on how to win back psycho ex-girlfriends and Will Be Done spells that sparked more than anyone could have foreseen. No. Spike was happy. Very happy. And he was happy because of her.
That was one honor she would not take lightly.
It took a few minutes to convince her legs that moving was a good thing. Besides, lying in bed when Spike was in the other room wasn’t nearly as fun as lying with him next to her. She padded down the hallway, stopped to wash in the lavatory, then assumed a position against the doorframe to watch her vampire at work.
The picture he presented warmed her heart. Spike was practically dancing between cabinets, cracking eggs into bowls, whisking them as though he lived for nothing else, and whistling cheerfully all the while. He dropped slides of butter into the frying pan heating on the stove, whipped the pancake mix to gooey goodness and took a minute for himself to approach her with a delectable smile and kissed her boneless before returning to his work.
“You look too delicious in my shirt,” he decided matter-of-factly, avoiding her eyes or any other body parts that might distract him from breakfast. “Sorry. M’bad. Shoulda known puttin’ a thoroughly bedded goddess in my clothin’ wouldn’t get me very far. Go put somethin’ else on.”
Buffy laughed shortly and quirked a brow. The conversational air about him made her skin tingle. He acted casual, if not a little aloof. “Bossy much?”
“I’m gonna ravish you over this counter in two minutes ‘f you don’t.”
“Gee. And I thought you were supposed to make me want to change.”
Spike scowled. “You’re gonna get it, li’l lady.”
“Maybe after breakfast. Hungry.” It was impossible—improbable. The morning itself had already taken on too much of a fairytale setting for her to get any more of it. But he was naked from the waist up, and cooking. Yeah. Definitely a turn-on. If they kept going like this, she would be too sore to stand, much less fight anything.
There was that lingering fear that attached itself to whatever apocalypse the Powers That Be sent her way. The knowledge that despite her expertise in the field, there was every possibility that she could be bested. After all, Slayer. Not exactly one for the long term planning. The likelihood of her dying old in bed wasn’t exactly high on the totem pole of possibilities. Things had been quiet for far too long. And she knew that meant trouble was on a fast-track collision course with her fantasies of a long, dreamlike future with the vampire at the counter. The buruburus? Faith? The book? It was all coming to full circle. She dreaded the next phone call from Giles. The call that would shatter this bliss for the crueler reality. If this was all they were going to have, she wanted to savor it. Every minute.
She wanted more to have an axe in her hand and a direction to throw it in. Being a sitting duck made her nervous. And though they hadn’t discussed it, if they were dealing with Japanese demons that had never before touched American soil, there was every reason to believe that other non-indigenous creatures were out there lurking. Creatures that were undocumented in this hemisphere. A whole world of big bad uglies right at her doorstep.
So yeah. Without knowing what to fight or where—how to destroy it before power mounted and reached clauses that were nearly unsurpassable, she wanted to spend every waking moment with Spike. Exploring this, hoping it wasn’t the end as well as the beginning.
A bottomless breath shuddered through her and she crossed the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself into his back. Her lips danced across his skin, tiny shudders claiming her own. He went rigid for a minute, dropping his cooking utensils to the countertop. When she pulled back with a trembling sigh and pressed her cheek to his back, his hands finding hers across his middle, he exhaled deeply and laced their fingers together. The mood change, then, was not so thoroughly ambiguous. She loved it that she did not have to explain herself to him on every turn.
“It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” he vowed softly. The wealth of insight, unaided, was nearly startling. Reading her vibe was one thing—reading her mind was an entirely different issue. Different yet not wholly surprising. He was so deeply embedded in her that any link of separation could be felt for miles. “We came this far. Not gonna let you go without a fight.”
Buffy smiled a watery smile into his skin, brushing a kiss over the nape of his neck. “You can’t promise that,” she said, for all accounts logical. “The Powers have a way of doing whatever they want whenever they want.”
“Well, then they’re gonna be disappointed ‘f they think they can take you away from me.” Spike twisted in her embrace, quickly reaching over to flick off the switch on the stove. “’m not gonna let you go, baby,” he murmured huskily, eyes suddenly level with hers. Stealing breath from her lungs for how openly he expressed his emotions. Without lapse. Without doubt. Just looking at her and letting her know the full of what he felt, unhindered. “Not without one hell of a fight. They want you? They’re gettin’ me, too. I’ll be right there wherever you are. Whatever nasty’s comin’ll have to get through me to get to you.” A shuddering sigh pressed against his lips, and he kissed her tenderly. And as was rapidly becoming custom with their kisses, the world tumbled away and he lost control; turned to prop her on top of the counter, her legs abound his waist.
“You smell delicious,” he breathed into her hair. “Know what I want for breakfast.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be making?”
Spike smiled and nuzzled her throat, tongue darting out to taste her. The smells she emanated were driving him wild. Last night’s taste was not enough. A million mornings like this wouldn’t be enough. “Want me to stop?”
“Well, I am hungry—” She grumbled and pulled him back to her when he tried to move away and tend to her uncooked feast. Her arms coiled around his throat, drawing his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. He was clutching at her as though letting go would mean never regaining this, the hardness confined in his jeans rubbing her needy mound to the point of madness.
She didn’t know how she could want him again so soon. Another mindless comparison drawn from her stunning lack of prior experience. She had enjoyed one admittedly nice but similarly uncomfortable night with Angel. But at that, they had been sodden with rainwater and thoroughly exhausted when it was over. She didn’t want to think that he would have cheated her out of this had his soul stayed in place. Then again, had his soul remained, she would not be here with the man her body craved. The man that stirred emotions within her deeper than any felt before. Whisking whispers of former love away for the infiltration of how it was truly meant to feel.
Buffy never thought the day would come when she was glad for the curse that kept her and her former love apart. For the feel of Spike against her, she would trade this for nothing.
She heard him chuckle and pull back to meet her eyes. “You’ve been doin’ that all mornin’,” Spike said, amused but likewise on guard. She hated that. Hated how he felt he needed to protect his emotions around her. As though at any turn, she would toss him aside, thank him for the ride, and return to the boring shell of a life she had lived before him.
Well, as boring as a Slayer’s could be.
“Doing what?”
“Driftin’ off.” He lowered his mouth to her throat and excited harsh little gasps with his teeth and tongue. “Better watch it, luv. A bloke’ll think he’s borin’ you.”
“No. God, no.” Buffy shook her head and laughed a little. “I’m sorry. I’m not really one for being Deep Thought Girl, but…okay, here it goes.” She propped herself back, ever aware of their telling position. Wearing nothing but his t-shirt, his hands gently rubbing her skin wherever it wasn’t covered and edging dangerously closer to her quim on every tour. The sweeps he made of her inner thigh had her body quivering in arousal. He stopped teasing her at last, fingers anchored into her hips and thumbs gently rubbing the slick, tender flesh just inches away from where she craved his touch with a vengeance.
She was determined to get this out, though. Heedless of how he seemingly wanted her to talk with him seriously and come at the same time.
There was a flicker, though, behind his eyes. And it occurred to her that his insecurity was speaking out again. He feared what she was going to say, even if he needed to hear it.
Well, hell. If it killed her, she was going to make damn sure he knew that he was the one she wanted, for now and forever. However long forever between them might be.
“Spike,” she said softly, cupping his face. “This is still real to me.”
There was a still moment as he studied her, somewhat awed at her perception. A flash of denial crossed his features but died almost instantly. He warmed to her like nothing before. “Right,” he said. “Right. Guess I better start gettin’ used to that.”
“Yeah, you better. ‘Cause the reason I keep being all drifty is…I just keep thinking about how I’ve never felt…” She stopped, frowned a bit, and rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to sound like every soap my mom watches religiously.”
“Don’ rip on soaps,” he scolded. “Passions is a bloody brilliant show.”
“You both are insane.”
“That’s beside the point.” Spike grinned, his touch edging upward. “I believe you were sayin’ somethin’ about never havin’ felt this way before.” A pause as soon as the words escaped his lips, his eyes widening fearfully. “At leas’, that’s what I thought you were—”
Buffy’s hand found his mouth, effectively shushing him and all his illogical worries. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve never felt like this. Ever. Not with anyone. And I…this is the first morning after I’ve had, you know.”
“We talked ‘bout this already, sweets.”
“Yeah. But…it’s…” With a groan of defeat, her head collapsed wearily on his shoulder. “I suck at this.”
Spike whispered a kiss at her throat. “No, pet. You’re sayin’ everythin’ jus’ fine.” His hips thrust forward. “You wanna let me go make you breakfast?”
She shook her head, hands falling to his jeans again. “It can wait.”
“Buffy—”
“We have all morning.”
“Not much mornin’ left, sweetheart.”
“Drat.” Her mouth attacked his hungrily as her clumsy fingers finally succeeded in freeing his erection, welcoming him into her grasp. The moan he rumbled into her sent sparks of fire across her skin and he helped her shove his trousers to mid-thigh.
The vampire dropped a hand to her center, massaging her gently. His t-shirt drew up around her hips to allow him full exploration. The feral mewls he captured with his mouth just pushed him onward. He took to her slowly, rubbing the texture of her moist folds between eager digits, sliding his skin into her to test her readiness and starting at the run of heated ambrosia that drenched him at the slightest touch. “God,” he gasped into her mouth. “How do you stay so wet?”
“How do you stay so hard?” she countered, running her thumb over his leaking head, her other hand capturing the weight of his sac and giving him a good squeeze.
“Oh bloody fuck.” And before she knew what was happening, he had sunk himself inside her, his hands clenching at her shoulders. Buffy threw her head back and her jaw dropped. She had never made love anywhere but a nice warm bed, and while she was a traditionalist at heart, the angle he struck sent small waves of burning pleasure to her core. He must have felt it, too—she thought he must, for the breath he took was ragged, and his eyes were closed piously. “Never knew anythin’ could feel this good,” he rasped.
A smile tickled her mouth and she kissed his temple, releasing a heady moan as he began to move at a slow, agonizing tempo. The slide of his flesh from hers was sweet torment that she would never forfeit. “Now I know you’re exaggerating.”
He shook his head feverishly, catching her lips in a fit of ardor. “Don’ exaggerate,” he gasped. “You’re perfect. So bloody perfect.” His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt and slid inside, up until he was massaging her breasts. “Never felt anythin’ like this. Never.”
“Spike—”
“Fuckin’ perfect.” He kissed her eagerly. “Never givin’ you up, Buffy. Never. You hear me?” Without warning, his thrusts gained momentum, delving into her urgency. Fingers kneading her nipples, mouth hot and hungry at her neck. She was clutching at his shoulders with desperation she had not known she possessed. “Drive me outta mind. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Oh God.”
“My golden goddess.” His teeth tugged at her ear. “My own Aphrodite.”
The room was heavy with gasps and whimpers. Buffy’s head landed against the cupboard, her eyes fighting to stay open. She wanted to look at him. Wanted to see the wealth of emotion pouring through his own rich pupils and allow that to shove her over the edge as much as the other. Her thighs clenched around him, her nails digging into his skin.
“So tight. So fucking tight.”
“Spike!”
“An’ hot. You’re so hot. An inferno. God, you’re killin’ me.” His was cadencing against her body, striking her at levels she didn’t know existed. “Not gonna last.” And then his hands abandoned her breasts, one snaking around her middle to tug her closer, the other sliding to her center. The feral in his eyes sparked with yellow, and for the intensity on his face, she knew he was wrestling with his demon for dominance. The man in him fighting the darkness to keep her entirely for himself.
Buffy kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He moaned against her and tightened his grip on her body, pulling her as close as humanly possible. For everything else, the feel of him inside, the adoration sweeping his embrace, it was the most blissful sensation of her life.
Though, with him, she had been having quite a few of those.
“Spike,” she gasped, pulling away and resting her forehead against his. “Tell me.”
He was rubbing her clit roughly, sliding a finger into her, as though it wasn’t already enough. “Whassat?”
“Uhhh…tell me again. Please.”
He slowed a minute and looked at her quizzically before understanding overwhelmed him. And a smile touched his face, the tenderness in his eyes taking the world away. “I love you, Buffy,” he gasped, sweeping her mouth into a fierce kiss. “God, I love you so much. So much.”
The Slayer smiled at him, panting through her esteem, then braced herself against his shoulder and overwhelmed him with her climax. And then they were falling together. Falling through an abyss of paradoxical delights, bodies rocking with ageless rhythm in a connection that no other could outmatch.
Spike buried his face in her throat. “God,” he said. “We’re gonna kill each other.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. “Rather you kill me with lots of sex than the big scary.”
“Right, so when the world starts endin’, we start shaggin’?”
A giggle tickled her lips and she kissed him. “That would definitely be the best apocalypse I’d ever been to.”
He stared at her for a minute but laughed in his turn. Buffy hugged herself to him and he lifted her off the counter, her legs still abound his waist as they slid lazily to the floor.
“We’re never gonna get you fed,” Spike observed after a minute. The air smelled heavy of their combined essence and was already doing a number to restore his passion.
Buffy didn’t seem to mind, though. Resting leisurely with her head at his shoulder, her arms curled under his. “New rule,” she said. “When we eat, we wear clothes.”
“Well…” He pulled away slightly to dance into her eyes. “Depends on what we’re eatin’ luv.” His brows wiggled and she flushed thoroughly, buried her face in his welcoming skin and tightening her arms around him.
It would have been quite simple to forget that the world and all its badness existed at all had Xander not pounded on the front door the next minute. Buffy jumped; Spike mewled at her jump, and her hand flew over his mouth in warning.
The morning was going too good. This was their wake-up call. If her friend decided to walk in without a formal invitation, he would receive a rude awakening. The dining area was connected to the kitchen, and though they were not within direct view, the air smelled of sex and she was not about to lift herself from Spike’s lap just because she was afraid of being caught.
“Buffy?” he called through the door. “Buffy? Spike? You in there?”
Buffy slowly lowered her hand from her lover’s lips, her eyes never wavering from his.
“Guys?” A few more agonizingly long seconds. “Okay, well…Will, Sam, Josh, Ahn—pretty much all of us are headed over to the Eola for more fun researchage. Giles wants you to do a sweep tonight, then we’re having a meeting and oh my god, why am I talking to a door? Gahh…” There was a hefty retreat, another pause, then he was back. “Are you sure you’re not in there?”
A low growl reverberated through Spike’s throat.
“Okay, well…if you are in there, then you know what to do. If you’re not, I just wasted three minutes of my life that I will never get back.”
On second retreat, he was gone for good. Buffy’s shoulders sagged in relief, her head finding Spike’s chest. They were silent for a few minutes; just sat in an odd embrace on the kitchen floor. His arms were still around her, his cheek resting on her crown. A moment of pure tranquility.
She knew what he was thinking without needing instructions. She was thinking the same. “I’m going to tell them,” she whispered.
Another beat. “Huh’s that?”
“I’m going to tell them…about us. I just didn’t want Xander to find out that way. You get that, right?” She pulled back slightly to gauge the emotions in his eyes. “I want them to know. This isn’t gonna be an ‘I’m ashamed’ thing. We’re together. For as much or little time as we have left, we’re together…as long as that’s what you want.”
Spike was still for another long minute, then his face lit up with a gorgeous smile and he crushed her to him. “’Course it’s what I want. We’re together,” he said. “Never lettin’ you go.”
That revelation was sealed by a timely groan of her stomach. They broke apart on the same note, glanced down, and chuckled quietly together.
“Well, maybe to make breakfast.”
She smirked at him. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“Well, seems as I recall, I got ambushed by a cute li’l—”
“Ambushed?!”
“—who can’t get enough of me an’—”
“Oh, that’s it. You’re so gonna get it.”
He nodded. “Yep. That’s pretty much how it started.” He grinned off the look on her face and stood, cock slipping out of her warmth with a shared moan of loss. “All right, kitten,” he said, kissing her neck. “You better toddle off so I can make your food before you die of starvation. ‘Sides…” He ran his tongue over his teeth and reveled in the flush it brought to her skin. “You’re gonna need your strength.”
Buffy sniggered but turned to do as she was told. She was also going to get him a shirt to cover up his yummy chest and keep her from further distraction.
Spike was giving her perfection. Everything right now was so perfect. She didn’t remember a time when she had been happier. When everything felt so right. When life was a bell ringing especially for her.
She was happy. She, Buffy Summers, was happy.
And the very fact that she was happy frightened her beyond reproach. Beyond all her joy, there was one noble truth. With happiness came the burden that there was that much more to lose. And Slayers were not meant to be happy. She was not meant to be happy.
That was it then. Her curse.
Something terrible was going to happen.
TBC